When Toric set off with Fourth to some destination along the coast, Pinch summoned Bista to him. She had been inconspicuous among all the fire-lizards that darted about Southern. He met with Sintary in Southern's Harper Hall and gave the Master a sketch of Fourth, asking him to keep an eye out for her. Then he sent Bista to Sebell, requesting a dragon to convey him back to the Harper Hall.

It took two days to recover from the party. Lessa had managed to talk F'lar into staying overnight as a snowstorm had blown in over Benden from the Eastern Sea and she wanted to stay warm. T'lion, who had helped build the ramp, talked one of the Monaco harpers into coming along for the celebration: Jubb had a guitar, Sparling a fiddle, Riller a drum. Keita sang a fine light soprano, Sagassy a rich contralto, and everyone, even Tai, laughed when F'lessan tried to sing the chorus with them. He didn't try to dance but F'lar partnered everyone, including Tai, though she excused herself from other invitations on the grounds of her sore leg and sat with F'lessan when he wasn't busy trying to keep his bronze dragon from walking up and down the ramp. But it was a fine evening.

The next morning both rider and dragon were so lame that Tai complained that they'd used up two whole pots of numb-weed between them to ease their aches. Keita decided that she was redundant and asked T'lion for a ride to the Healer Hall. She'd send more numbweed.

The third morning saw the last of the party cleared up. Sagassy said they'd enough food left over for several days and she'd best get down to her hold. Tai offered to fly her back, with the favorite pots and pans that she'd brought up to Honshu to help out. Suddenly F'lessan had his weyrhold to himself. Taking a cup of klah out to the terrace, he sat, watching Golanth snoring, head on his forepaws.

His color's good, F'lessan thought and firmly turned his mind to wondering when Erragon would bring that new console so he could start working for his living. Which brought him right back to what he didn't want to think about! The facts that he would never lead a wing again and that Golanth might never fly Zaranth. Thathe didn't like-especially since Zaranth was a young dragon and would need a good male to keep her content. He, F'lessan, certainly didn't wish to share Tai with another rider-any other male. She enjoyed being with him now, relaxed, eager, and he wasn't going to have her response to him destroyed by some heavy-handed rider with no sensitivity for her marvelous, intricate personality. He felt himself getting quite roused by the very thought. And they had work to do, both of them, on the prints: they weren't half through that job. That was the channel he should concentrate on. The stars! The stars were important. Sky-watching was important work. He didn't need to fly to do that. He did need Tai to do that job properly. Truth be told, she knew a lot more about astronomy than he did, though he was catching up. They'd need more people in Honshu to help with that project. He couldn't keep up with Erragon's four hours of sleep a night. The daytime work, listing all the positions, seeing if there were other traces of the orbit from wherever Master Idarolan was working. Weren't there good men in Crom and Southern Boll already involved? He should meet with them. He should organize his life on a new basis-shouldn't he?

Abruptly another revelation occurred to him. Lytol, with his scarred and seamed face! Hehad been dragonless for Turns, ever since his brown Larth had died in a routine training flight at Benden: a training flight during which R'gul had allowed his dragon a chance to chew firestone and flame. Only Larth had caught flame in the face and so had Lytol. The dragon had managed to land his gravely wounded rider with the last breath in him. That should have been the end of the rider, as a person-a dragonless man.

Tradition said dragonless riders suicided rather than live without their dragon. But Lytol had defied that convention and had become far more than a dragonrider. He had been a Lord Holder for Jaxom's minority; he had then turned his hand to help Master Robinton and D'ram to manage Landing as a major Hold to the satisfaction of everyone involved. Now, Lytol and D'ram, in addition to bearing blind Wansor company, had accepted yet another role for which they were unusually qualified: as wise consultants for the complex society of the planet. Briefly F'lessan wondered, even as his soul cringed at the thought: would he have had the courage to build a new life-lives, in fact-as Lytol had done, if Golanth had succumbed to his injuries?

F'lessan gave a snort of disgust for his self-absorption. The time he had wasted. As Tai had said, there would be a way. Lytol had made several, and the example of the man's quiet heroism rebuked him.

Halfway through a snore, Golanth woke, alert, looking northward. When was the Nine Fall due? Close enough for Golanth to knowit was near.

Five riders appeared in the sky, and a sixth came swooping up out of the jungle. It was Zaranth who reached Honshu first, hovering to let her rider dismount on the terrace before she turned on her wing tip, as if challenging the newcomers. F'lessan rose, wondering at her almost defensive attitude. Then the dragons were close enough for him to recognize them: Monarth, Gadareth, Path, Galuth, and Arwith, but they made no move to land.

They come to practice,Zaranth said. Tai, I will get his jacket.

"What do they mean 'practice'?" F'lessan wanted to know. His jacket smacked into his chest and the reflex action of his hand kept it there.

"They mean to practice what they learned from Zaranth, Ramoth, and Mnementh," Tai said, as if reminding him of something he'd forgotten.

Lessa had said something about practice the other evening. "Practice what? Who on?"

What happened next was as astonishing to Tai as F'lessan. As she watched-F'lessan went white and staggered in shock-Golanth rose vertically from the stone of the terrace, hissing in surprise. Instinctively, the bronze spread his wings, though he could not extend the left far or raise it to match the other. But he was being lifted into the air.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO GOLANTH!" cried F'lessan, limping frantically to where Golanth dangled out of reach.

I'm all right, F'lessan. I'm all right.

"PRACTICE!" T'lion called.

"PRACTICE!" shouted T'gellan, Persellan behind him.

That was what C'reel and Mirrim were shouting, too.

"You have to practice, as well, F'lessan. All he needs is height," cried Mirrim gaily from Path's back. Her dragon was staring at Zaranth, indulging in some communication that neither rider heard.

"You knew about this?" he demanded of Tai, recalling her whispered reassurance under the ramp.

"Me?" she was affronted. "I'm certainly the last one they'd tell. Zaranth can't keep secrets from Golanth or you."

"PUT MY DRAGON DOWN!"

It doesn 't hurt,Golanth replied, peering down at his rider, as he was supported in midair by the other dragons. I'm high enough to gobetween.

You can't gobetween without your rider,Monarth said and Golanth began to descend.

Stop!Golanth cried to reduce the pressure that was putting him back down on the terrace stones. That's better. Be careful of me! I'm not a feline to be tossed about any old way.Shaking his head, he righted himself and looked around for F'lessan. Why can't I do it to myself?

We don't know–yet!Arwith replied, blinking her lids with puzzled embarrassment. Queens were supposed to know everything.

"We're lucky we've got this far," T'lion shouted. "Get aboard!"

As Golanth crouched to allow him to mount, F'lessan hesitated.